White-water Rafting

Guest blog by Tom Pflederer
Suzanne, the missionary wife who lives next door, walks by one day as I sit reading under the veranda. We engage in brief conversation about her life in this town for the last 12 years. Like lots of people who live here, she also wants to know what we think of Brazil.

We are still noticing lots of little things that are different. Buying milk in a bag. Hiring a man to mow the entire yard with a weed whacker (It took him two days.) Paying a $1.50 for a haircut.

Doing church is a little different here. Most obvious, of course, is the steep learning curve to really be able to communicate in Portuguese about spiritual things. On a of couple occasions someone interprets for us at church, so we get a clue what’s going on. But last Sunday I had only Josh—who is still struggling with basic conversation—to rely on. At the end of the sermon, he leaned over to me and said, The pastor made four points, of which I understood none.

My working hypothesis about animals in church is that when dogs run through, they are chased out, but cats seem to be allowed to stay, although it may also be related to whether you have an actual building for your church or you meet in your garage. At a village service on our river boat trip, a gecko dropped out of the rafters onto my shoulder and, before I could even react, hopped off and away. Children wander in and out. People sometimes appear to be having side conservations during the sermon.

But there is a level of freedom and expression and passion that is deep and moving during the worship and prayer time. Interpretive dancers are usually a part of the worship team up front. Everyone of every age seems to be completely involved, often openly weeping, singing with great enthusiasm, eyes closed, swaying to the music. People often respond to the preaching with Amen’s and tears and coming forward at the end of the service.

On our boat trip, as we arrived at the little village of Vila Nova, we saw a passenger boat already parked on the banks. We learned that 20 – 25 people had come from Vitoria, a town about an hour down-river where there is already an established church. In fact, they had not only come, but had brought with them a worship team and, at considerable inconvenience, a sound system, complete with several microphones, a sound board, and a couple of huge speakers. By the time we arrived, they were already set up and practicing.

It was not until the service was over and they were packing up in the dark to leave for home that I began to catch some perspective on what we had experienced. I thought this little group of believers had done something really special, coming all this way to present an evangelistic program at this village, and I thought we ought to go and thank them. Brin said it’s not necessary, that they would not understand why they were being thanked. They were only doing what every evangelical church in this area does all the time. It's part of their genetic code.

Over and over, once or twice or three times a month, at their own initiative, by boat, by car, by motorbike, in the back of a truck, the believers in these little churches pack up and go. If someone knows someone who is the only believer in some village an hour away, they help them start a cell group. In cell groups, people hear the Gospel for the first time and believe. The cell group invites a church to hold evangelistic services in their village. Others believe, other cell groups are started, the cell groups come together to become a church, and the pattern repeats itself.

I ask Suzanne if she has any desire to move back to the US. She pauses, and then comes and sits down. Her eyes sparkle in the Amazon sunlight. Ministry in the US, she says, is like swimming in the community pool. Every day here is like going white-water rafting. She smiles. I’ll stay, she says.